


in low lights

by pxint



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, M/M, babie :((
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxint/pseuds/pxint
Summary: "It's a tough thing to go through. You're kind of, you know, by yourself for a lot of it."-Nolan Patrick. Philadelphia, PA. 3 Dec 2019. Interview.call me when u can,sits on the lock screen of his phone the next time Nolan checks it, buried underneath texts from a day ago.
Relationships: Nico Hischier/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 6
Kudos: 123





	in low lights

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh i love the holidays and i love the flyers

Nolan hasn’t been playing long enough to be labelled a bust, but hearing it every now and then still stings. The amount of people sympathetic towards his being out dwindles everyday, and Nolan can’t even find it in himself to be frustrated about it. Because he’ll always end up pinning the blame for things going wrong on someone, something, and coincidentally, it’s always him. 

He knows that when he sits in a room full of mic’s and does his part talking to the press, that the only thing people are looking at are his numbers. In hockey, all you really are is a number. The one stapled to your back, the ones on the scoresheet, the games played. 

The games. Nolan hasn’t played a single game this season and he’s reminded of it every morning. Every time he opens his eyes, looks at where he’s at, every time he’s sitting in a dark room with his thoughts swirling nonsensically around his head. Each word bumps into the next, every train of thought derailed before he can make sense of it. 

He re-watches the 2017 draft while lying uncomfortably on his bed and barely makes it past Miro’s smiling face up on stage before he turns it off and blames it on his head. 

-

He texts Nico, _can i call u?_ because his vision is fuzzy and it’s nearly impossible to focus on the tiny lettering on his phone. The light is bright enough to make him want to squint. 

Nico sends, _why are u still up??_

Nolan scrubs a hand over the side of his face. His phone tells him it’s 1:34 AM, but he doesn’t have a practice to go to the next morning, doesn’t have a game, doesn’t have any early flights to catch. 

_is that a no??_ He asks, and Nico responds by lighting up his phone with an incoming call.

His ringer is off, but the sudden buzz is still unnerving. It’s probably the most he’s challenged himself in the past five days. That’s saying a lot, because he still needs to steel himself before answering. 

“Hi,” he says, dropping his phone on the bed next to him after turning it to speaker.

Nico speaks slowly when he says, “Hey, how are you?” 

It feels weird, and Nolan huffs out this tiny breath. His pride gets in the way of most things, most things being admitting he actually needs to be spoken to softly, that he can’t be rattled by questions upon questions right now. 

“C’mon,” Nolan says. He doesn’t mean for it to sound as pleading as it does. “If I really wanted to talk about myself you know I wouldn’t have picked up.” 

Nico makes a little noise, something between genuine concern and him trying to play it off as a laugh. “I just want to know if you’re okay. Because I—I still want to come to Philly for Christmas, just to check in with you.” 

Nolan pauses, trying to calm the clacking of his heart against his ribs. He says, “And I still think you should spend that time with your family.” 

“It won’t take long, and I can bring you those donuts you really like. The ones from the mom and pop shop by the beach,” Nico tries, and he sounds excited. “How about that?” 

Nolan stares up at the ceiling, this pool of darkness with the smallest imprint of messy grey from the backlight of his phone. He doesn’t know how to answer. 

“Just. How was your day?” he asks instead. “Do anything fun?” 

It’s an obvious non sequitur, but it sets Nico off into a story about the rookie. He tells Nolan about how he keeps catching flack from Taylor for saying the stupidest shit, and Nolan listens to the sound of his voice until his cheeks hurt from smiling.

-

Nolan stands in a room with microphones shoved in his face for what feels like years when in reality it’s just under ten minutes. But he talks about his head enough that there’s a reminder of pain ingrained into the bottom of his skull for the rest of the day. 

He gets to see a couple of the guys and makes idle conversation until he knows he has to leave, it’s the most human contact he’s had in a while.

Then, he sits in a dark room and presses the heel of his hand above his eyebrow and listens. To the sound of the interview playing over and over in his head, the looks of concern he’d gotten from some of the guys, the way every noise he hears hits him like nails on a chalkboard.

The worst part of this is that he can’t stand looking at his phone, the fact that he can’t even text Nico just to tell him he’s _okay_ , because he knows he saw the interview. The last time Nolan spoke into a mic, Nico was acting like he let himself double shift with a concussion. 

-

 _call me when u can_ sits on the lock screen of his phone the next time Nolan checks it, buried underneath texts from a day ago. 

Nolan doesn’t need to check who it’s from. He never does.

-

Sometimes Nolan will sit out on his front steps just because the chilly air makes him forget. He gets to close his eyes and pretend he’s in a rink again, on NHL ice with the team instead of alone, trying to keep his footing and losing his balance against the boards. 

He lets the cool air wash over him and it doesn’t make anything better, but it doesn’t make it worse either. 

-

“How are you?” Nico asks. 

Nolan stares outside his window until the bright light from the snow feels like looking into the sun. He snaps the blinds shut and watches the room fall dark. 

“It snowed,” he says, frustrated. “Again. I’m sick of it.” 

“Shouldn’t you be used to that,” Nico asks, there’s nothing but sweet edges to his voice, but his little chuckle is sharp. “I mean, because you are—you’re Canadian.” 

“Yeah, no.” Nolan rolls his eyes and it doesn’t surprise him how fond it is, underneath everything else. “I got that. Thanks.”

“Oh, did I tell you what happened at practice a while ago, with Jesper and the stick tape?” Nico asks him, and he does what he always does when he’s about to tell Nolan a story, his voice lilts, he sounds like he’s barely keeping it in. It’s like letting a kid go free in a candy shop. 

And Nolan’s heard this story, Nico had told him when it happened, but he hums. “Nah, I don’t think so,” he says, and sits back on a couch as Nico goes on and on and. 

-

There’s this familiar coil of pain on the side of his head and Nolan just wants to know when it’s going to stop. Whether it’s a week from now, a month, or even a year, he just wants that sense of closure. Because even when it doesn’t hurt, there’s always a phantom jolt of pressure in the same spot, over and over. 

It’s until he feels sick, and then he’s dizzy and can barely get to his feet, let alone skate. 

Actually, he hasn’t been cleared to skate since the last time he was on the ice, far over two weeks ago. 

He’s been tired for so long, it's all blurred together.

-

TK drives him to the store one morning, because Nolan had his heart set on it. And he wants to pick up the red and green holiday Rice Krispies, because he insists they taste better than the originals. 

TK doesn’t say anything about keeping a hockey diet, and Nolan doesn’t either, because he’s tried to stick to a clean regime without any sort of pay-off for long enough. 

“You’re like ten years late to Rice Krispies,” as Nolan’s shoving two boxes into his grocery basket. 

“Maybe I’m not late to them, maybe they’re late to me,” Nolan says, which makes no sense to him, but he’s hoping it registers as something to TK.

“You’re hopeless, man.”

Nolan’s phone buzzes against his pocket and he’s already standing underneath fluorescent lights, so he pulls it out. He can feel TK watching him as they stand in line, but he doesn’t mention it. 

_i’m driving down to philly on christmas eve and jsyk there’s nothing u can do to stop me_ It’s from Nico. 

“Good news?”

Nolan doesn’t recognize the soft look he’s wearing on his face until TK snaps him out of it.

“Um,” Nolan says, “yeah, I think.” And he doesn’t know what he means by it.

-

 _how are u??_

Nolan texts Nico, says, _i watched ur game tnight_

_embarrassing,,u weren’t supposed to look!!_ He sends back, with a small string of these blushy emojis. 

There’s something Nolan finds impossibly endearing about Nico. Something, something. Maybe it’s the way he’s so sweet on everything. Maybe it’s the way he painstaking chooses his words whenever he’s speaking, maybe it’s the care behind his voice every time he speaks to Nolan. 

Maybe it’s that he’s Nico Hischier and Nolan has known since day one that he’s never really had much control over his heart.

-

Nico doesn’t ring Nolan’s doorbell. He sends him a text, a quick, _open up its freezing!!_

Nolan smiles and lets Nico in, trying to shield himself from the cold air that pools inside, but Nico pulls him into a tight hug almost immediately. His coat is cool and Nolan can feel it through his shirt, seeping down to his skin, but he still lets his hands go tight around his middle. He breathes Nico in and nearly loses himself. 

“How are you?” Nico asks him gently, shutting the door behind himself. The pink on his cheeks spreads to his nose and Nolan can’t help but watch the way the colour crinkles at his eyes when he smiles. 

“Is it cold out?” Nolan asks, and Nico shakes his head, peeling off his coat. 

“No, no, how are you feeling?” He frowns, and Nolan thinks he could drown under his gaze. “How’s your head?” 

Nolan shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, for a lack of doing anything better with them. “Headache,” he says, brutally honest. He hates the way it makes him feel. Exposed, raw, cut open. It’s the exact reason he never answers too many questions pertaining to his head during interviews, when the entire world has their eyes on him. 

But Nico doesn’t give him a pitying look, he doesn’t make him feel shameful, he just kicks off his shoes. “You wanna go sit down? I could make us lunch or something, so I don’t have to drag you outside.” He touches a hand to his shoulder. “I thought it’d help you feel at least a little better.” 

Nolan doesn’t have much room to disagree, mostly because what he has been eating for the past while has been nothing but processed garbage. It’s easier like that. There’s no need to fritter around the kitchen when your food comes prepared in a box.

So, he says, “Shit, yes, of course,” and Nico laughs.

-

Nico talks softly about little things here and there, between Nolan talking about wanting to see New Jersey again, all of which is just a guise for wanting to see Nico. 

They eat together, still chattering, and Nico playfully hooks their ankles together underneath the table when Nolan compliments his cooking.

A few moments go by, and he doesn’t shift away, or get up, he just. Stays. Nico’s talking about wanting to bring donuts for Nolan, but how the shop he was intending to go by was closed all Christmas week, and.

“Nico,” Nolan says, and then freezes because he isn’t sure what he was about to say. It’s too late to back track, and it’s hard to swallow words when he’s already spoken them. “I—I missed you,” he blurts. “I mean, I haven’t really seen any of the guys lately, or people in general, or. Fuck. I missed you.”

Nico blinks at him. “I missed you, too. It’s. It’s kind of a shock when you go from seeing each other a couple times a season to, well, never.” He looks down at his hands. “But I’m here now, I’m here as long as you need me to be.” 

-

There isn’t much hesitance when Nico kisses Nolan, while Nolan’s pressed into the couch and there’s a rerun of a Christmas movie on the TV. Nolan is way out of his orbit.

They were talking, talking, and when Nico leans over to kiss him, everything goes silent. The world shudders to a stop, right in Nolan’s fucking living room, and for a moment, this is all that matters. 

Nico is so careful, touching the softest hand to the nape of Nolan’s neck, letting a hand fall to his thigh, holding everything together gently, gently, gently. 

“Oh,” Nolan breathes out, when Nico pulls back. His face feels hot, and that buzz of pain thats been thrumming in his head all night dulls just a little. “You—what was that for?” 

“I owed you donuts,” Nico tells him. “But not anymore.”

“ _Hey._ ”

“Nope, I don’t make the rules.”

Nolan shakes his head, still feeling heat sitting on the apples of his cheeks. “No, nope, that’s because those aren’t the rules.”

“How about this?” Nico starts, and Nolan knows he isn’t imagining the way he seems to lean in just that much closer. “A kiss for every donut in a dozen, just to make it up to you.” 

“That might work.” 

Nico smiles. “Then it’s settled.”


End file.
